These are the Days They Say We'll Remember
by findingthewayhome
Summary: It started with a missing dog and an old friend. Joe had no idea how it had led to this strange little- well, family, as much as he had shied away from saying so to Frank or Nancy.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Joe sighed, shoving his chair back from his desk. It had been raining all morning, and it didn't look like it was going to stop anytime soon. The light tapping of it on his office window was wholly unwanted and uninvited. Much like the gentleman standing in front of him.

"I'm not just saying it, you've come to the wrong place. I don't do those kinds of things." It came out more of a grunt than Joe intended, as he stood, straightened, and felt a familiar twinge in his hip.

"Please, I swear, I can't-if I don't get help- just tell me the cost—" The stuttering combined with the way the man's hands twisted his baseball hat pricked along Joe's skin. He grimaced.

"Sir, I'm going to just tell you straight, if it's been a month, you probably aren't going to find him. And it certainly isn't worth the money you'd have to pay."

"He brought my boy back to me." – it burst out loud and sudden and for a second Joe wasn't sure it had actually come from the man who'd been practically showing himself out the door for the last five minutes.

"He's-wait. What?"

The man blinked, a little surprised, a little more hope in his grey eyes as he paused his nervous twisting of his hat to clinch his hands together around it. Joe's eyes flicked down to them. They were rough, swollen around the joints. There were scars on them, ranged from white, thin lines to red, blotchy scratches. Some kind of builder, a carpenter maybe, probably having worked for the last twenty years and still working if the recent scars were job-related. Based on the receding hairline, Joe would guess the man to be in his late forties, early fifties. "My boy-he's not-he's had a rough couple of years. Doesn't feel comfortable with much these days." There was a pause as the man swallowed, and shifted away from the doorframe, closer to where Joe stood at his desk.

"Please. I know its nothing, maybe not worth the time or the money. But he helped. He really helped. And we need that."

Joe sighed, and sat back down heavily, pulling himself back behind his desk.

"And this IS a lost dog we're referring to, correct?"

It wasn't that he didn't need the work – things had been quiet on the outskirts of Jupitar. When he'd worked in the city, he'd easily worked 80 hours a week without fail. Now that he had relocated about 100 miles outside of New York City, he was lucky if he worked 80 hours a month.

Nodding, the man gave a half-smile, and pulled a worn wallet from his jeans pocket, flipping through yellowed plastic photo holders placed in the flap of a credit card slot until he paused at one. Pulling out a small, square polaroid, the man carefully placed the photo on the desk in front of Joe.

"He's a lab. Mixed with neighboring farm dog."

The photo was blurred but he could see a young man crouched down, wearing a shirt about two sizes too big, arms wrapped tightly around a serene looking golden dog with ears that seemed a little too small for his head. Studying the young man, Joe noticed the way he held the dog in front of himself, tension in his bent legs, like he wanted to run and hide but anchored himself there for the sake of the photo.

"When was this taken?" Joe grabbed a yellow legal pad from the bottom drawer of his desk, shuffling aside a coffee cup and a couple stray newspaper clippings to clear a space in front of him to take notes.

"About 3 months ago". Anxiety was creeping back into the man's voice and he scratched awkwardly at the salt and pepper whiskers scattered along his chin and upper lip. "I know it's just a dog. But my son, James. He was in the military. When he got back about a year ago, we had to pick him up at the hospital. I didn't recognize him, and he didn't seem to recognize his mom or me either. He had lost so much weight, and he kept running away, every night, for the first two weeks. After about a month of that, we talked to a friend of my father's who had served with the navy. He's the one who recommended a dog—said that when he got home from his first tour, his wife brought him back to his home but his dog helped him stay there. So, we got buddy here."

"Buddy, huh". Joe jotted the name down, circled it. Truth be told, he had no idea how he'd manage to find a dog that had been missing for a month, particularly one he'd seen posters of plastered across every coffeeshop window and drugstore for the last three weeks. But it wasn't like he had to get his paperwork for Higgins done now, he wouldn't need to submit the record of findings for his case until the shoplifter went to court next week. And, it had been a little too long since he had done pro bono work anyway.

It was a weak rationalization, Joe knew, but there was something about the way the dog stood so calmly in the picture, the way the young man looked at the camera without a smile, the way the man in front of him swallowed thickly and gave a suspicious wipe at his eyes, that caught at him.

"Well, tell me a little more about Buddy".

* * *

When the clock hit 9:00pm, Joe lifted himself up off his chair, shoved the USB with information on the illusive Buddy into his pocket, and grabbed his jacket. He knew it was too late to help Frank put Pete to bed, but he was still early enough that he should be able to help out if Pete woke up while Frank was in the middle of his case notes.

Working around a six-month-old wasn't easy. Joe had to admit, there were times he missed how things used to be. As he jogged over to his Honda, slinging his scarf around his neck to combat with the November wind cutting across the parking lot, Joe glanced at his phone and saw he had missed a text from Frank. Pausing once he settled behind the wheel, started the engine, and turned on the heat, Joe thumbed open the message.

"_Pete's asleep. Come on over, if you have time. Don't worry about it if you're stuck at work."_

"_Just finishing up. I'll be over in about 10."_ Joe hit send, slid his car into reverse, and nosed out onto the highway. It helped, working in a building right off the exit going into Jupitar and he'd gotten more customers heading in or out of New York than he thought he would, largely due to the convenient location. It wasn't anything to look at, Joe acknowledged as he circled around the two story office building, but he liked the artist living in the upstairs floor and getting to know the gentle faces of the licensed professional counselors who always waved when they passed his door on their way to their own offices in the shared space.

The drive wasn't long enough, not really, for Joe. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Frank, or take care of Pete if he woke up. It's just that, Joe shook his head at himself, annoyed with himself. It was just that it always hurt, a little, seeing the circles under Frank's eyes, feeling like he could have done more to ease the load. He knew he'd have to see just how tired Frank had gotten over the past couple of days that Joe had been stuck at work late and hadn't had time to swing by Frank's house to help out around the house.

Fighting against closing his eyes, Joe blinked sleepily at the road ahead of him and turned up the radio, thoughts drifting back to "Buddy, the Disappearing Dog" as he was dubbing the case. Not a creative name, but he'd think of something else later. He'd already checked the local humane societies and animal control facilities—he'd even called animal control and shelters in towns as far out as Ridgepark, though he highly doubted the dog would have made it over 100 miles out. He'd try to reach out to a few of his contacts tomorrow, local bartenders, coffee shop owners, people who tended to hear things, but the reality was that there was little he could really do that the owner hadn't done already.

_Well. At least I can say that I tried, _Joe thought as he craned his neck to the right, feeling it pop with some satisfaction as he pulled into Frank's driveway. He always was a little stiff after these long days at the office, as much as he tried to ignore that fact.

Slipping out his key, Joe walked up the little brick steps leading to the small, two story house. It was a neat little place, with a white picket fence around a small patch of front yard and a rose bush draped around the front door and steps in a way that just begged to be photographed for a Better Homes and Graden's cover.

Out here, off the highway, it was always the good kind of quiet, Joe was reminded, as he heard the cacophony of crickets while he texted Frank a quick, _"Here",_ and slipped as quietly as he could into the living room.

"I'm in the guest room". Frank's raised 'whisper yell', the one he had perfected over the last six months, carried Joe from the living room towards the downstairs bedroom which Frank had converted into an office as soon as he realized he would have to start working from home more often than not.

"Hey". Joe pushed a smile on his face as he stepped into the lowlit room, taking in his brother's tired grin and the coffee cup clenched in his hand. At sight of him, Frank's fingers loosened around his mug, and Joe's smile felt a little more real as he settled himself in an office chair on the opposite side of the desk his brother sat at.

"How'd the champ go down?" Joe kept his voice lowered, glancing over at the baby monitor Frank had set at the end of the desk behind a laptop with a browser opened to "New York State Case Precedents".

"Well. Let's just say that I will never, ever ever, want to hear Pachelbel's Cannon ever again". Frank groaned, putting his head in his hands in mock agony.

"I still can't believe he likes classical music that much. Little traitor – he was supposed to be a fan of the beach boys." Joe said lightly, taking in the way Frank's eyes softened and crinkled at the corners. He didn't look as tired as Joe had anticipated. "So much for all those months I spent crooning "Barbara Anne" to him."

"Crooning? _Can _anyone croon "Barbara Anne"?".

"Shut up". Joe grabbed a crumpled piece of paper from the oak desk and tossed it in Frank's face. "I can croon whatever I want to croon."

"Okay, well maybe just stop saying croon, how about that?" Frank's lips were curved in the grin that reminded Joe of years of sitting across from him and catching the exact moment Frank realize he had spotted something in a case everyone else was overlooking.

"Okay, okay fine." After a pause, Joe swallowed. "Hey, I'm sorry I haven't been able to be here these last few nights."

Waving a hand in the air, already bent back over his laptop, Frank shook his head. "Don't be. You were fine. I know you've got work to do, bills to pay. I mean, you need some way to fund that addiction to every live-streaming service ever created."

"I'd like to say you're wrong, but then I'd be lying to both of us, and I know too well how that usually plays out." Joe gave a self-deprecating grunt, spinning slightly in the office chair. Frank's eyes darted up to meet his.

"I swear, I didn't mean to tell Mom and Dad that you were the one who'd lost Poky."

"Nope. Nope. We are not rehashing this story again. Once a week is quite enough. May Poky the turtle rest in peace." Rolling his chair a little closer to plant an elbow on the massive oak desk Frank had insisted on buying the day he graduated college, Joe let his smile slip away as Frank chuckled, muttering "Rest in peace."

"How's Callie doing this week?"

The way Frank sighed hollowed out Joe's stomach.

"She's—she's feeling pretty bad. I couldn't stay with her in the hospital while she was getting her treatment because of Pete, but I picked her up-about 6:00 I think? She didn't want to eat anything beforehand, trying to avoid some of the nausea afterwards, but I had to try to get her to eat something before she went down for the night."

Frank shook his head and grimaced, propping his elbow against the desk and resting his chin in his hand, eyes unfocused.

"She threw it all up, everywhere, and Pete, he just started crying and crying, and wouldn't calm down." Joe winced in sympathy.

Raising his eyes to meet Joe, Frank swallowed. "Yeah, I mean, we're used to that by now. But I think I just got freaked out because Pete wouldn't calm down and usually that makes Callie kind of steel up. Tonight though, when Pete was just screaming, Callie didn't insist on walking to the bathroom on her own when she got sick."

"Mm. That's-", The words stuttered around Joe's mouth, and most of them tasted too much like fear. "That's not her-uh—her usual style".

"Mmhm". Frank's eyes were staring vacantly out the window into the night, his face blank. This was always hard, when Frank had to see that even someone as strong as Callie couldn't escape being changed by something like breast cancer. Sometimes it seemed like it wasn't just Callie's body that had undergone surgery – it was her soul, and Frank's too. Maybe even his own, Joe thought, as he nudged Frank's chair under the desk, rocking him a little back and forth on the dark green carpet. He needed to keep Frank present. The past six months had taught him what happened if Frank fell into that lost, silent place he often went to after hard weekends of treatment.

The wry smile he got was something at least. "No, no it's not." Frank blew out another quick breath. "But we'll take her in tomorrow if she isn't feeling better or can't keep enough food down."

"Well, I have to admit," Joe hummed thoughtfully, "if she _can _keep down your cooking, I would be impressed."

It was a lie, of course, not even a good joke he knew, but Frank rolled his eyes and the smile came back on his face as his eyes lit up. "Oh man, you should have tried the brownies I made yesterday. I've been trying to keep everything really healthy, fruit smoothies and vegetables, for Callie, but yesterday she told me she refused to eat anything until I made her a brownie." Laughter tumbled out and for the first time that night, it didn't sound like it was being squeezed out of him.

Grinning back, Joe raised a brow knowingly. "Oh ho, now _that_ does sound like Callie. And disgusting smoothies sound like you. After that kale incident, can you really blame her?"

"Okay, the kale smoothie might have been going overboard. I've admitted that already! But yeah, I got mad and told Callie she was being too stubborn, and then got Pete into the car and drove off to raid Target for brownie mix. At 6:00 in the morning. In my coat and pajamas. And I couldn't find my shoes so I ran out in my winter boots"

A bark of laughter escaped at the mental image of his 30 year old brother running around the store with a six-month old, his plaid pajamas tucked into boots, which earned Joe a reproving glare from Frank. Slapping a hand dramatically over his mouth to smother the noise, Joe shook his head. "Oh man. If only the 10 year old Joe could have seen you like that. I wouldn't have been half as invested in copying everything you did down to the haircut I mad mom give me. But, come to think of it," Joe cocked his head, "If I hadn't tried to copy you, I probably wouldn't have gotten involved in the case of the missing lemons, which was truly the start of our illustrious career. And what a national tragedy _that _would have been."

"Well, speaking of our illustrious careers- how was work today? Any new cases?" There was a spark of longing in Frank's eyes that Joe couldn't ignore, and for a moment he was relieved that the only case he had gotten that day was a barely-there case of a missing dog.

"Well, there is one, a real nail-biter."

"Oh?" Raising an eyebrow, Frank leaned forward, twiddling at the edges of his laptop, to stare at Joe with some surprise.

"Yeah. It's a case of a missing…..dog".

"Oh no. Oh Joe. Tell me you didn't."

"Come on, its not like I've been super busy lately, and the guy asking me for help made a good case".

Shaking his head, Frank's lips quirked in amusement. "So essentially he said he missed his dog and you caved. Or am I wrong?"

"Okay, now hold on," Joe reached into his leather messenger bag, pulling out the photo of Buddy and James and sliding it across towards Frank. "That isn't completely accurate. I mean, first of all, it isn't even the man's dog, it's his son's."

"Oh, wow, I'm way off." Frank deadpanned, but Joe shoved the picture further under Frank's nose.

"Really, take a look. His son was in the army and it sounds like he has PTSD or something like that. When he came back, the dog was kinda the only thing that got him to stay put any place. When they went anywhere public, the son, James, would freeze up, become catatonic if it was really noisy or really crowded. Buddy kind of kept him awake in those moments, helped him stay with himself. It's been a year since James got out of the military, and the only time he gets together with anyone his own age is when Buddy's beside him."

Studying the picture intently, tracing a thumb across the dog's ears, Frank nodded. "Okay, so this isn't just someone missing a run-away pet."

"Exactly."

"So what has your approach been?"

Shrugging, Joe twisted his head left to right, looking up at the ceiling, absently noticing that the blue paint on the wall was starting to peel around the windows lining the room. "I mean, beyond the usual, getting in contact with shelters and animal control? Not a lot. The only thing I can think of doing that this guy's father hasn't already done is maybe posting online in a couple of different forums."

"Mm, that might work. Most people are more often online than they are outside anyway."

Nodding thoughtfully, Joe pulled out his laptop from his bag and set it on the desk across from Frank, while Frank turned back to his laptop. Both quietly typed for some time and Joe tried to find different options beyond Facebook and Instagram to post his missing dog information on. There were always some of the news agencies. Most were posting online anyway and Joe had a couple of connections with ones in the Jupitar area.

Right when Joe had finally submitted his final "missing dog" notice to the last online local news agency he could find, a little cry came from the room upstairs. Both Frank and Joe's heads snapped up, and as one they held their breath and listened as if somehow by being extra quiet, they could cox Pete back to sleep.

It was to no avail. The wailing grew steadily louder and Frank sighed.

"He ate just about an hour ago, so he may be wet."

Nodding, Joe stood up and stretched, "The wipes are still on the crate beside his crib, is that right?"

Gratefully shooting Joe a smile, Frank nodded. "And he's still got a little bit of a rash that you'll just need to apply the lotion to. It'll be right next to the wipes."

Leaving Frank to his work, Joe strode as quickly as he could to the small back bedroom. It wasn't more than 20 feet away, so it only took him a moment to be creeping through the darkness of the bedroom towards the crib.

"Hey little guy," Joe whispered, shushing and reaching down to pick up Pete who's face was twisted in miserable distress but who immediately grasped Joe's thumb when his hands reached Pete's chest.

"Alright, alright, there we go." Flicking on the night light shaped like a dolphin to the right of the crib, Joe twisted to the right to place Pete atop the changing table beside the crib, grabbing wipes and lotion from a crate full of what looked like about fifty baby blankets.

Blue eyes squinted up at Joe, screwed up in frustration, and Joe felt the familiar pang of seeing actual baby tears sparkling up at him. It was hard to believe how big Pete was getting sometimes. As Joe changed Pete's diapers with a deftness he would never have believed possible a year ago, he smiled down at Pete, who evidently appreciated the dry feel of his new diaper and was contentedly staring up at him, eyes getting heavy again with sleep.

"There you go." Joe cradled his nephew to him for a moment, then slowly bent down and lowered him into the crib. A sleepy grunt issued from Pete, but no cries followed, to Joe's great relief. Compared to a lot of other kids, Pete was a pretty good sleeper, according to Joe's mother, but Joe had had too many night of lying awake while Frank and Callie tried fruitlessly to get Pete settled.

As Joe tip-toed out of the room and shut the door once more, he felt a small buzz in his back pocket. Shushing furiously at his phone, which always seemed to vibrate at a volume only Pete could hear, Joe pressed on his display to shut his notification down.

**Nancy Drew**

The name stared up at him from his phone. It wasn't like they never talked anymore-with Nancy moving to Pennsylvania and writing occasional stories for "Crime Reports and Investigations", they had had enough in common to stay in contact. But what caught Joe was the bit of text he could make out on the message he had just gotten. _"So I might be crazy, but I think I found your dog."_


	2. Chapter 2

_Alright, fair warning for all those who have come to read a strictly cannon history of Nancy Drew and the Hardys—I'm going to be playing it fast and loose with some elements of cannon, some more apparent than others as we go._

_To those who have reviewed: Barb, RedRua, Caranath, Max2013, Cherylann Rivers, and sm2003495—thank you, thank you! It's been years since I've written anything, but a couple years ago I posted an epilogue to my only other story and somehow I've found myself deciding to give it a go again. I appreciate any word of advice, comments, or just a general hello : ) Thank you for stopping by._

Chapter 2

In the "good old days", Joe sometimes bemoaned to Chet when they started reminiscing about their college years together, staying up until 1:00 in the morning was no problem at all. Unfortunately, the last few years had not been kind. No longer could he manage to skate by on three hours of sleep and still be semi-functional the next day, which mean Joe had reluctantly pulled out of Frank's driveway at 10:00pm last night without any further work done than what he had managed to accomplish before changing Pete.

_But really, how functional do I have to be to find a dog? _Joe mused as he lay in bed the next morning, listening to the quiet hum of his heater, feeling not quiet as rested as he'd have liked to on a Saturday.

Rolling over, Joe sat up rubbing at his eyes, letting loose a jaw-cracking yawn as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and felt his feet scratch against the stiff carpet. His apartment was always a little too hot in the summer, but the carpet had been a necessity for the winter months, or so the landlord had assured him when he moved into the studio apartment. As November crept closer, Joe had to admit, it was nice avoiding his ice-cold wood floors by the strategic placement of his 5x6 carpet lining the walk from his bed to his dresser.

Pulling on a pair of jeans which were becoming a bit too threadbare for comfort, Joe paused to stretch out his hip – there was no ignoring the stiffness in it this morning as he leaned sideways at the waist, propping an arm against the wall for balance, the stretch of muscles gripping at him just painful enough to make his physical therapists' recommended exercises edge forward slightly on his mental to-do list. Maybe he could bump "learning all the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody" down a notch.

Groaning a bit, Joe eased himself upright, and checked his phone. It was only 7:00am, but Pete would have been up for a while, and Joe figured Frank wouldn't want to cook anything in the house if Callie was still feeling nauseous. Wrestling his head through a wrinkled blue button down and taking a quick peek in the mirror to decide his hair hadn't quite reached the shade of blond that meant showering was an absolute necessity, Joe locked up his apartment and jogged to his car to make his usual weekend trip to the bakery he'd grown to love over the last year.

Not until he was standing in line in the little shop, waiting for two coffees, three smoothies, and a dozen donuts getting finishing touches of glaze drizzled on them by bleary eyed college kids, did Joe pull out his phone to take another look at the message he had gotten last night.

**Nancy Drew**

"_So I might be crazy, but I think I found your dog."_

"Well that's just not possible", Joe muttered to himself absently, as he opened his messages to check the attachment Nancy had included in her text. Last he had heard, Nancy had moved to Chesterton, which, while also in New York, was a good five hour drive away. For Nancy to have found that dog, he'd have had to travel over 300 miles. Not unheard of, but highly unlikely for even the most free-spirited of dogs, as far as Joe knew.

Squinting at the attachment, Joe clicked on the photo without much anticipation. He stared.

"No way." Eyes widening, Joe flicked his fingers over the screen to zoom in on what Nancy had captured.

"Order up for Joe Hardy?"

The call rang out, and Joe snapped to attention, pocketing his phone and excusing himself through the line of people awaiting their orders to reach the fresh-faced girl behind the counter who grinned up at him while handing over a white paper bag and carboard drink carrier with a cheerful, "Have a wonderful day!"

"Thanks, Megan."

Receiving a beaming smile in response, Joe tipped his head in a mock bow, before taking long strides out the shop door towards his car, intent on examining the picture on his phone more closely.

Settling the drinks carefully into the passenger seat as he slid into the driver's seat, Joe tucked the bag of donuts under a sweater with an appreciative sniff of maple and lemony- vanilla frosting and pushed his keys into the ignition before tipping sideways in his seat to grab his phone from his back opened to the image he'd only been able to examine for a few moments in the bakery.

It was a startlingly good shot, now that he had time to study it more closely, and Joe whistled low under his breath. The photo was framed by two white towers, militant in their straight edges and unembellished walls. Rain was clearly streaking down when the photo had been taken, small blurred circles visible on bits of the photo like the phone had caught some of the storm on its glass as it took the picture. It was a moment of perfect timing; while it appeared the picture had been taken across a busy road, there was just enough space between cars passing each other to allow for a glimpse of a dark alley running between the buildings. In front of that darkness, right between the buildings and the crossing cars, caught in a patch of sun somehow breaking through the rain, was a young boy and a dog. The boy's head was bowed, bent against the rain, but he had a protective arm around the dog's back—a dog with a tattered orange color and ears too small for the rest of his golden body.

"There's just no way." Despite the disbelief however, Joe began typing out his response.

_Nancy, good to hear from you. _

_I can't believe it's actually the dog I'm looking for, but I see the similarities. Where did you see them? _

Hitting send, Joe stared down at his phone, zooming again on the picture. The boy seemed small, no more than 7 or 8 if Joe had to guess, but his face was turned away from the camera, intent on the dog at his side. There was something bittersweet about the way the dog and boy stood out, the only people visible in a long string of cars and buildings edging around them. He wondered what had caught Nancy's attention in them, wondered if she had felt that too when she pulled out her phone to take the picture.

After a last lingering look at photo, Joe gave embarrassed huff— it was just a missing dog, nothing to get excited about. The odds of it being the same dog were laughably slim. Shaking his head, Joe looked behind him and slid the car into reverse, backing up and twisting sharply to the right to roll onto the highway. There wasn't anything more to do until Nancy responded, and Frank's coffee was getting cold. Guiltily pressing down a little more firmly on the gas, Joe sped as fast as he dared until he was turning into the driveway if felt like he'd just vacated moments ago. Gravel crunched under the tires, and under his feet as Joe grabbed his set of Frank's house keys from beneath a scattered heap of change and gathered up his breakfast supplies.

As he unlocked the front door, jangling his keys and calling out a tentative, "Hello", Joe heard a slight buzz coming from his pocket but with hands full of smoothies, donuts, and coffee, he couldn't really do anything other than kick the door closed with his foot and hurry towards the kitchen table where they always ate their meals.

"In here!".

Callie.

The relief that hit him at the sound of her voice was almost embarrassing. Not that he was admitting that if anyone asked.

"Well well well, look who's finally deigning to join us for breakfast this morning," Joe grinned as he rounded the corner and leaned against the kitchen doorframe. Callie grinned back at him from where she sat stretched across two chairs, feet barely peaking over the table top, and Joe choked back a laugh as he took in her purple pajamas, pink bathrobe, and fuzzy bunny slippers. The slippers had been his idea, a gift to her before her first treatment. He had read that chemo patients sometimes became more susceptible to cold while in treatment, so the morning he drove Frank and Callie to the hospital, Joe dropped a gift bag into her lap with a careless, "because Frank doesn't have my sense of style". Frank had huffed, only sounding a little choked and watery, and Callie had laughed until she cried when she saw bunny faces staring up at her. She'd worn the shoes every day of treatment since then.

"Ooh, is that hazelnut I smell?" Making grabby hands at the coffee, Callie's eyes lit up and she leaned forward eagerly, momentarily popping her legs down from their perch. Laughing, Joe snagged a cup from the set hanging above a small window facing a patch of garden in the backyard, and carefully poured the coffee from one of the to-go cups into the white ceramic mug.

"Good…nose, I guess." As Joe set the coffee down on the kitchen counter and busied himself getting breakfast laid out, opening cabinets for plates, pulling out spoons from the dishrack beside the sink, balancing a small bowl of sugar on top of it all, Callie gave a croaky whine.

"Come on, Joe. Hurry! Before Frank sees."

"Wait, are you not supposed to have decafe coffee either now?" Joe quirked a brow, setting the mug in front of Callie, but keeping a cautious hand around it.

Shrugging, Callie flicked at Joe's fingers until he moved them with an indignant yelp. "I honestly don't know. Hiding from Frank when I'm eating something I actually like is pure instinct at this point".

At Callie's mournful tone, Joe let out a laugh, pulling out a chair to join her at the table and pushing a peanut butter-banana smoothie in front of her.

"Well I promise you, your secret is safe with me. And I also promise you," Joe continued as he took a bite of maple donut and struggled to speak around it, "this smoothie has only the good stuff in it. No kale."

"Crumbs, Joe!" Callie's nose wrinkled in disgust and Joe gave her an unrepentant beam but grabbed a napkin from the bakery's bag and wiped at the table.

"Do I smell donuts?" Frank sleepily stumbled into the room, holding a wiggling Pete in his arms who immediately grinned at the sight of the box of donuts, making grabbing motions so similar to Callie's that Joe smirked and gave Callie a side-glance. She ignored him, of course, and Joe snorted. How a child only six months old had already caught on to how donuts were basically desert for breakfast was mildly impressive in Joe's opinion. Taking a quick pull on his blueberry smoothie, Joe stood up and hooked Pete under his arms, taking him from Frank who gave an appreciative smile and slumped into the chair at the end of the table. His hand drifted out almost absently to brush against Callie's clasped around her mug.

"Morning, hon."

For a moment, Frank just looked at Callie, studying her eyes, his hand coming up to adjust the soft beanie on Callie's head, tugging down on the edges to wrap a little further down her forehead. It would have been normal six months ago, Joe reflected as he watched Callie's head tilt towards Frank's hand, for Callie to get impatient with Frank's worry and brush his hands away rather than letting him press the back of his hand to her forehead and giving him her softest smile as she did now. Some of the changes that had come into their lives weren't all bad. They were different. Softer—both of them—not weaker.

"Morning. Last night was one for the books, huh?"

"Yeah", Frank's voice was quiet, but the skin around his eyes relaxed as he leaned back, seemingly satisfied by the way Callie was sitting up, eating, talking.

"Well, you should know, I am drinking coffee and I don't care what you say. I'm thirsty enough to drink a pot of this stuff. Joe, how much more of this do you have with you?" Callie asked brightly, squeezing Frank's hand and holding her mug up with some defiance.

"Cals, I'm okay with the coffee as long as it's decafe. AND—" Frank strained to grab the pitcher of water directly behind him on the counter, "as long as you drink one of these for every one of those." He nodded at the mug, and Callie's mouth pulled down at the corners as she groaned.

"Oh my gosh, is that really necessary? I'll be peeing all day."

"Speaking of which…" Joe nodded down at Pete. "I'm gonna get him changed."

Joe stepped quietly outside the kitchen, bouncing Pete in his arms just slightly. As he grabbed the empty container of puffs that was Pete's newest obsession, he could hear Callie and Frank's lowered voices drifting from the kitchen. They didn't really have enough time together these days, between Pete and treatments, and Joe took his time, cleaning Pete up and throwing on a pair of Hugs as Pete mouthed at the empty container, gurgling pleasantly, little fingers busily scrabbling along the edges where a label had been worn off.

"Okay, let's see what we have here." Joe reached for his phone, remembering the buzzes it had made when he arrived, and held it up in front of him as he wrapped an arm around Pete's chest and picked him up from the changing table.

It was another text from Nancy. Three actually.

"_I should have explained. I'm outside NYC, not far from you guys. Probably an hour away, with traffic?"_

"_I saw him again, not close enough to get a better shot."_

"_Whosever the dog is though, it's not the boy's. At least, I don't think so."_

Raising his eyebrows, Joe typed as quickly as he could one handed.

"_What makes you say that?"_

To his surprise, Nancy's response blinked onto the screen after a couple of seconds.

"_The dog is in good shape. The kid, not so much."_

What did that mean? Joe started to type out another question when Pete gave a howl of protest, finally growing tired of his stationary position in Joe's arms and flinging a hand reproachfully at Joe's phone.

"Alright, alright, you have a point."

Joe shifted Pete to his other hip, patting him on the back and walking through the hallway from Pete's room towards the kitchen. He caught a glimpse of Frank's books still scattered across the desk in the office, and he smiled, taking a couple of steps forward before pausing at the room across from the office where Frank and Callie slept after moving to a more accessible room than the upstairs master bedroom. Peering inside, Joe took in the box of latex gloves propped against the nightstand beside the bed, the disposable bowls beside them, and quickly shut the door. Callie never wanted Pete to be too near anything she touched after treatment.

Shuffling into the kitchen, Joe caught Frank right as he was leaning over to kiss the top of Callie's head.

"EW, get a ROOM." Joe threw a hand over his eyes.

Rolling his own, Frank grinned at Joe while Callie hooted and made obnoxiously loud kissing noises in Frank's direction. It really was routine now. Months ago, Frank and Callie had been told that the possibility of exchanging fluids while Callie was recovering from a cycle of treatment made kissing too risky. Once, Frank had instinctively leaned in after a treatment and, panicked, Callie had tipped her head down so that Frank's lips just brushed her forhead. The stricken look on both their faces left Joe swallowing hard and since then, he always made sure to react to any touch they exchanged with the agony of a teenager being told one too many times by parents that "sex is a beautiful gift we treasure".

Settling back into his chair, Joe pulled out his phone again and passed Pete on to Frank, who crammed the last bit of his donut into his mouth and scooted back from the table to sit Pete on his lap.

"So, I think I'm going to see a man, or rather a woman, about a dog."

Raising an eyebrow, Frank asked, "You mean the missing dog case has a lead?"

Nodding, Joe reached for his coffee mug, draining the last dregs and wiping a hand across his mouth as he began pulling up Nancy's messages.

"Yep. And you won't believe who I heard from."

"Nancy?".

Joe could feel his eyes bugging out of his head. Callie laughed and patted his arm consolingly.

"It's okay, Joe, I don't know how he does it either."

At Joe's affronted look, Frank covered his laugh with a cough and grinned. "She asked me if I could give her any information on a client we'd had this past month, and I figured she might be coming near the city to track down a story. I had to tell her attorney client privilege applied on that case, even to us paralegals, but told her she could check out some public records in Reston, New York. That's only, what, forty miles out? If it was Biff, Chet, or any of our other friends that we both know, we'd have been planning to see them if they were that close. So," Frank finished with a flourish, "Nancy."

Joe glared at Frank. "What I'm hearing is you had an unfair advantage when I asked you to guess."

Shrugging, Frank shared a smile with Callie, and Joe sighed.

"Okay, well yes, it was Nancy. And she thinks she found the dog."

Pulling up the photo, Joe handed his phone to Frank who examined it and passed it to Callie.

"Well, what are you going to do?" Callie leaned across the table, toppling Joe's almost empty cup which Frank quickly righted and tossed into the trash as Pete squealed in delight, reaching for the blueberry puddle on the table.

"Well, if she's that close, I think I might as well drive down and have a look. If she's working on a story, she'll be busy and I don't wanna ask her to do any tracking that I could do myself."

"Mm. Yeah. Interesting comment about the boy." Frank's eyes flicked back down to Joe's phone as he wiped at Pete's fingers, twisting away from the table as little hands strained to slap against the spill.

Grabbing the last remaining napkins on the table, Joe nodded. "I thought so too. I think I'll drive down, if you guys are set for the day."

Frank's mouth twitched and for a moment, Joe could tell he'd had urge to ask to come, even on a silly scavenger hunt like this one most likely was. Callie must have caught it too and looked at Frank with a faint lines of unhappiness and empathy around her eyes. She'd hated that he'd decided to put his degree to use and become a paralegal while she was getting treatment, but Frank had insisted this was the best way to ensure he was there for her, and for Pete, and that was that.

"No yeah, we should be set for the day. Maybe you could swing by this evening if you wanted, but we've got Callie's parents coming into town to watch Pete so I'll get to work on some house projects."

Joe nodded, and pulled out his phone.

"_I know it's a long shot, but I think I'll head down your way."_

Gathering up the empty bags and drink carriers, Joe tossed them into the trash, and with a last tickle to Pete's chin, kiss on the cheek to Callie, and firm hug around the shoulders to Frank, Joe walked outside to his car, pulling up the GPS on his phone.

**Nancy: **_"Okay, I'll give you the address I saw them at."_

The address Nancy gave was only 45 minutes out, and Joe smiled with relief, punching it into his phone.

"_Thanks! Will you be around still? Want to grab lunch?"_

**Nancy: **_"Sure! If you're buying"._

Joe grinned at the message and rolled out towards the city of Reston.

* * *

When Joe pulled to a stop in front of a café an hour later, his stomach was already growling again and Joe was glad he'd told Nancy to meet him there for lunch. Smoothies never cut it, no matter what Frank said.

With a curious look around at the towering buildings that the café was planted right in the midst of, Joe walked into the shop, hearing a bell ring above his head as he did so. The shop was full of lounging highschool students and couples speaking in low tones, and Joe cast a quick look over the tables. Then, right beside him, he heard, "Joe!", and turning around, he met the unmistakable smile of Nancy Drew and started. Beside her on the low window seat sat a small boy, with a red cap and a thin face.

"Uh….hi".


	3. Chapter 3

_First, to all those who left reviews – they were a pleasure to read, and held some startlingly accurate guesses as to what has been going on in the last decade or so of the boy's lives. The long ones are always such a wonderful surprise and encouragement—it's fascinating to hear what you all are seeing I this story so far. Thank you, thank you for taking the time to write feedback, to present your thoughts, and to give some support._

_Second, heads up—I am working and completing an internship, so my time is stretched a little bit thin. I apologize for any and all delays that that causes in updating! _

Chapter 3

"Did you—uh—order yet?" Joe asked, looking from Nancy to the boy, unsure of who, exactly, he was addressing.

"No, we were waiting for you", Nancy spoke with a smile, but her eyes were watchful as she glanced at the boy at her side. "I've almost decided…Mike, do you know what you want?"

With eyes so dark they were almost black, the boy-Mike apparently—stared up at Nancy before giving an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"Mmhmm" Nancy nodded thoughtfully, as if the boy had just explained to her the Pythagorean theorem instead of giving a response that could barely qualify as a "no", and Joe had to smother an unexpected smile. "It's not an easy choice. Hmm. Well, let's see, which one of these pictures looks good to you?" Pulling the menu closer to herself, Nancy flipped between glossy pictures of a ham roll, a sticky looking cinnamon roll, and a club sandwich. By keeping the menu in front of her chest, facing outwards, it was clear Nancy was trying her best not to crowd Mike, and finally the boy's hand crept along the table towards the picture of the ham roll. Seeming to take that as a "yes", Nancy nodded again, humming in approval.

"A ham roll. Mm, that does look good. Joe, can you get us two of the rolls? And grab me a coffee?"

"You've got it," Joe turned, catching a glimpse of the boy's hand shooting back into his lap as he did so, and walked to the front counter to place the order. Various specialty items were written in chalky white on the blackboard positioned behind the young man working the counter, the drinks written in a loopy scrawl mingled with small drawings of flowers and somehow still legible in a glance.

"Could I please get two of the ham rolls, a club, two coffees, and…" scrambling slightly, Joe peered at the blackboard again. "Maybe an apple juice?"

The man nodded, ringing up the order with practiced efficiency, filling two black mugs with coffee, pulling a carton of apple juice from a mini fridge tucked behind the counter, and handing them off to Joe along with a number for the table and a brisk, "the food will be ready shortly".

Slowly making his way back towards the window, Joe kept his hands carefully wrapped around the handles of the mugs, twisting his arm a bit to tuck the apple juice into the crook of his elbow. Gingerly setting the drinks down, Joe grabbed a chair from an empty table beside them and placed the small wedge of wood holding their order number in the middle of the table.

For a moment they all sat there silently. The table was round, and they were positioned around it like points of a triangle, equally separated, equally together. Now that Joe had more time to study the boy, he took in the dirt and scratches on his face. Black hair poked out from under a red, tattered hat. The name "Laymand's auto" stretched across the brim in worn stitching that must have once been white but was now more grey than anything else. The shirt the boy wore was the same one that he had seen in the photo, Joe noticed, but up close he could see holes worn through the collar and across the hem that hung around Mike's knees. At least there was also a jacket draped over the boy's lap. November in New York was not kind at night—he shouldn't be outside without one.

As Joe took in these details, trying to decide whether the boy was homeless or just neglected, the boy's eyes shifted sideway to meet his. He seemed to shrink in on himself as he met Joe's stare and Joe coughed, swiveling his head. "So, uh, Nancy. How—how are things?"

Giving a small smile, Nancy lifted a shoulder, blue eyes flicking up to his. "Well, like I said over the phone, I'm here because of a story. Or rather, rumblings of what might be one." At Joe's raised eyebrow— "I'll tell you about it later though", Nancy quickly continued, darting a glance from Joe to Mike, as Joe looked down and noticed wide eyes watching beneath the brim of the hat.

"Of course, sure." Taking a sip of his coffee, Joe swallowed and took in the new lines around Nancy's eyes. Her hair was shorter, her eyes bright in a way that was carefully gentle, but her head tilted in a familiar fashion as she grabbed a sugar packet, flicked it twice, and tore it open to dump into her coffee. He and Nancy had never been particularly close but seeing her brought a bittersweet rush of memories. Life when he was 17 and so much younger than he knew at the time. A time when cancer was just a word he stumbled across in other people's stories, and heartache was the crack of a car bomb ringing in his ears. Before he knew how a world could come to an end without anyone dying at all.

Clearing his throat abruptly, Joe straightened, pushing back at the feelings sweeping in, but he froze when he saw the boy flinch at the noise. Slowly, so that the boy could see exactly what he was doing, Joe let his shoulders relax forward and placed clasped hands on the table.

"Well, I guess, if you have time, I'm wondering what you may have found out about my missing dog?"

Nodding, Nancy shifted in her seat, reaching into her purse and grabbing out a photo that was instantly recognizable as the one she had sent Joe the night before. "Well, I found this young man here about an hour ago, when I looking for Buddy, and I asked if I could talk with him about the dog he was walking yesterday. But before we could talk much, I realized I was hungry and asked Mike," inclining her head towards the boy as her mouth tilted up in a smile, "if he would mind coming with me while I got something to eat. He very kindly agreed."

Cautiously, the boy raised his eyes to meet Nancy's and Joe saw the way her smile seemed to break through some of the tension in his body as Mike sat up straighter in his chair. His shoulders became painfully outlined, thin and frail, through his shirt at the movement and it caught Nancy's eyes the way it caught his, Joe knew.

A waiter called out, "Number 13?" and Joe grinned.

"Well, I'll grab the food and then we can talk business."

Grabbing the tray of food with a quick nod to the waiter, Joe edged his way past the lunch crowd that had piled around the counter until he reached their table, setting one ham roll in front of Nancy and another in front of Mike. Joe's club had come with thick sliced French fries, and Joe quickly grabbed the little triangles the club had been cut into and stacked them precariously on the saucer that had come with his coffee, shoving the plate of fries casually back to the center of the table. If Nancy noticed, she didn't say anything, but as she reached for some pepper, he caught her elbow scooting the plate of fries closer to Mike.

For some time, there was just the sound of their eating as they dug into their meals. Nancy tore her sandwich in half, eating it a small bite at a time and smiling any time Mike glanced her way. Gulping down the club triangles, Joe watched as Mike's face lite up with every bite of his roll. After finishing, the boy ran a finger along the plate, collecting all the crumbs with a deliberation and care that was somehow much older than his years. Between the two of them, Nancy and Joe had gradually managed to scoot the plate of French fries so far in Mike's direction that they were almost in his lap, and Joe studiously kept his eyes on his sandwich as he felt a glance across his face and watched from the corner of his eyes as small hands reached out for a fistful of the fries.

When he finished the last bite of his sandwich, Joe took a sip of his rapidly cooling coffee, and cleared his throat, "So I heard from Frank that you were in the area."

He'd caught her mid bite, and Nancy took a moment to finish chewing, before swallowing and answering. "Yep. Still had his number from the college years. How has he not changed it in all this time?" The half smile in Nancy's voice brought another spike of nostalgia and Joe rolled his eyes.

"You know Frank – consistency is key." Grinning at Nancy, Joe gave a shrug, and took a long pull at his coffee. "I'm surprised you still had it though."

"Mmhmm." Nancy hummed a bit, shrugging a shoulder of her own, "He sounded…tired. How's-" she paused, "Callie doing?"

So she did know—it wasn't really surprising, but Joe cocked his head questioningly.

"I heard, a couple months ago." When Nancy didn't explain further, Joe nodded, fiddling awkwardly with the handle of his mug.

"Well, it's been hard. But, you know, Callie-she's strong. So is Frank, of course. But yeah, it's—" Joe floundered, unsure of what to say with Mike still carefully raising his eyes to study Nancy's or Joe's face whenever they spoke. "It's hard," he finished lamely.

"Mm", Nancy's blonde hair brushed at her shoulders as she rested her chin in her hand and studied him. "I can't imagine. I'm so sorry. I know it's been tough on all of you. Frank told me what a help you've been."

Shaking his head, Joe felt the worry straining at his face as he looked out into the bustle of the street outside, remembering Frank's eyes this morning when he brushed a hand across Callie's, how his hands tugged her beanie down carefully. "I try where I can. They're my family." Shifting slightly in his seat so that his hands rested against the table, Joe leaned forward slightly, mouth opening to ask Nancy a question when-

"He's yours?" The boy's words burst out so suddenly that while they were no louder than a whisper, Joe struggled not to jolt.

"Um…" Mind scrambling a bit, Joe tried to keep his voice casual as he shot a helpless glance towards Nancy's widening eyes.

Evidently the boy caught his confusion, because though Joe could see his throat bob with a hard gulp, he hesitantly whispered after a beat, "the dog."

"No"-Joe said slowly, lowering his voice, and shaking his head. "But I think I might know who he belongs to."

No response followed for almost a minute, and Joe quirked a brow at Nancy, who paused, before gently edging away her plate to make space for her folded her arms on the table. "Do you think you can help, Mike?"

Maybe it was the way that Nancy leaned in, curving carefully into his space, but this time Mike hesitantly nodded. "He lives with me". 

* * *

A half hour later, the three of them were walking through some of the dirtiest alleys Joe had ever seen—and he had seen his fair share while living in New York City. Trash was piled in heaps at every turn and while it was too cold for flies to be buzzing around them, almost every one rustled suspiciously whenever they walked by. Joe could smell the familiar stench of rat urine that he'd become far too acquainted with during a particularly nasty case that involved a short stint in a county jail and his nose wrinkled in reflex.

Mike's steps became more sure the deeper they walked towards the edges of Reston. They had left behind the gloss of downtown with its rusty brick store fronts painted to patchy perfection and coffee shops too intentionally shabby to be anything other than carefully revitalized. Here, run down stores and abandoned factory buildings with graffitied boards covering up broken in windows replaced them. At the end of the alley they were currently following, Mike stopped suddenly, crouching down and disappearing straight into what looked like the back of a hallowed out drugstore. Nancy tossed a look over her shoulder at Joe, who nodded as she bent down, and edged forward after Mike.

The interior of the building was in even worse shape than its exterior, and Joe could hear Nancy coughing as they made their way through a crumbling hole in the wall that had been invisible from the alley. It was clear that the drugstore had been ransacked months ago, shelves empty on their sides, broken windows lining the back of the store as branches from trees grew through them. Broken ceiling beams lay on the floor in scattered clumps that vaguely reminded Joe of beaver dams, plaster and broken ceiling tiles in the place of mud and leaves. Spiders had evidently found a haven from human interference and cobwebs lined the corners, stretching large between what must have once been the check out counter and bulbless light fixtures hanging from what remained of the ceiling.

As Joe and Nancy paused, taking all of it in, Mike picked his way over to a corner of the room, weaving around toppled shelves. A tarp was slung across two beams protruding at right angles on the floor, making a small tent, and Mike stopped at a tear in the plastic. The blankets Joe spotted through the opening of the tarp answered his question as to Mike's living situation, as did Mike's quick crawl through the tear.

When after a beat Nancy sent a questioning glance his way, Joe took a cautious step closer to the tent. As he opened his mouth to call out, Mike reappeared. Beside him, quiet and somehow relaxed despite the chaos around them, was the golden dog from Nancy's picture. Bending over, Mike whispered into the dog's small ears, and Joe could have sworn the dog nodded, obediently following Mike back to where Nancy and Joe stood staring.

When the dog reached them, he pulled up, sniffing curiously at the space between them. Slowly, Joe offered a hand, palm up. There was a momentary pause as a muzzle briefly brushed against his hand, and then a snout was bumping against his legs with polite friendliness and Joe grinned.

"Well hey there." He kept his voice low, even though he had a feeling the dog before him wasn't one to be easily frightened, and ran a hand along the dog's back. Waving his tail in approval, the dog pushed against his hands, and nosed towards Nancy, who promptly sank to her knees and rubbed at the small ears. Almost immediately, so swiftly that Joe gave a start, the dog slumped to the floor and both Nancy and Joe laughed as he rolled onto his back, clearly awaiting a belly rub. That was when Joe saw it. There, on dog's belly, was a thin, four inch scar, the end of it tapering off into a small patch of white fur. It was right where the man had said Buddy's was, the result of a lawn mower accident.

"I think it's him". There was no small amount of surprise in his voice, Joe knew, but he couldn't help it.

Dark eyes shot up to his, and Mike's fists clenched. "Buddy?"

The dog's response was immediate. Rolling back onto his stomach, he leapt up to sit directly at Mike's feet, head cocked to the side, clearly awaiting further instruction. Joe's stomach sank as he took in the stricken look on the boy's face as he looked down and studied Buddy's alert expression.

When Mike made no further noise, Buddy bowed his head down, nudging at Mike's knees with his nose. At that, Mike crouched down, knees cracking when he bent them, reminiscent of a much older man. Wrapped an arm around the furry shoulders that immediately leaned into him, the boy shifted behind the dog and looked up into Joe's eyes. It was so like the first picture Joe had ever seen of Buddy that Joe felt the urge to rub at his eyes, making sure the boy in front of him wasn't suddenly the young man in that photo. Beside him, he heard Nancy shift, crossing her legs and settling without concern on the dusty floor as she watched Mike.

"Is this where you have been staying?" It wasn't hard to catch the worry in her eyes, but Nancy raised a gentle hand to pat Buddy's back and spoke with a smile as she bent her head to meet Mike's eyes.

Nodding his head, Mike whispered, "Yes."

"Do you live by yourself?" Nancy asked, glancing behind him towards the small tent he'd crept from.

Again, Mike nodded.

Taking a breath, Nancy licked her lips, and then hesitantly asked, "Do you have any family?"

This time, Mike shook his head, quick and sharp. Then, so softly Joe instinctively bent down to hear, Mike muttered, "My parent's are gone. I have some of their stuff in there." Motioning towards the tent, the boy kept his eyes trained on Buddy, and Nancy furtively tilted her head to catch Joe's eyes.

"You mind if I take a look?" Joe knelt on one knee, patting Buddy's head, asking in as casual a tone as he could manage. When Mike gave a detached shrug of permission, his face oddly blank, Joe nodded, turning around and crawling through the tear of the tarp.

The smell of dog was strong inside the tent, and Joe caught sight of a small bundle of blankets covered in dog hair, roughly shaped in a circle at the end of a mattress that took up almost all the space in the tent. Eying the floor suspiciously for any unwanted spiders, Joe knelt onto the mattress, and clicked on his flashlight, shining it into the small space at the back of the tent that he couldn't quite make out in the light filtering through holes in the tarp. There, at the foot of the mattress, was a small plastic crate, holding what appeared to be a small picture frame, an old notebook, and a brown folder. Pulling the crate up onto the mattress, Joe examined the contents, wiping at the face of the photo and peering at it carefully before realizing it was simply a stock photo that the frame must have come with. Carefully laying the picture frame back into the bottom of the crate, Joe glanced at the title of the book, "The Horse and His Boy". After seeing there was no inscription in the front of the book when Joe leafed through the first several pages, Joe turned to the folder. "Case No. 132" was scrawled across the front of it in messy handwriting, and Joe studied it for a moment before carefully unwinding the string that bound the folder in loops between two small plastic circles.

The first paper contained in the folder was frail, but to Joe's surprise, when he pulled it out, he was met with bold letters declaring "Certification of Birth". It was for the city of New York, and the name printed neatly along the middle of the paper read "Michael Athelhorn. Male. Born 2010." Flicking his phone to his camera, Joe snapped a picture of the certificate and swiped into his messages, pulling up his conversation with Frank and typing quickly.

_"Hey, can you look this boy up?"_

The rest of the papers contained in the manila folder seemed to be a record of vaccinations and several newspaper clippings of personal ads, which Joe glanced over before grabbing the crate and scooting across the mattress and crawling out of the tent.

Mike still had an arm around the dog as Joe emerged from behind the tarp, and his face looked stiff as he continued to pat Buddy's back. Glancing up, Nancy raised an eyebrow at Joe, and he silently motioned towards the crate in his hand as he got to his feet, dusting at the knees of his jeans.

He felt a buzz in his pocket, and Joe fished out his phone, placing the crate before Nancy, who looked at Mike questioningly before hesitantly reaching into it. Frank's ID flashed across the phone and Joe frowned slightly, moving towards the hole they'd crawled through at the front of the store, swiping to the left and answering quietly, "Frank?"

"Heya Joe. Where the heck did you find that birth certificate?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Joe could see Mike's head raise and Nancy looked up from the book in the crate that she had been paging through.

"Um, long story. What can you tell me about him?"

"Well, unfortunately, there's not much to tell. I found that copy of his birth certificate online, and his death certificate. That's it."

Joe jerked his head up, and he felt a sharp tug in his nerve endings. "His what?"


	4. Chapter 4

To all reading: I wish I had more to offer than this scrape of a chapter! Unfortunately, updates will probably continue to be sporadic at best. Grad school is almost completed but still manages to consume a large chunk of my time.

Chapter 4

If his teens had been about seeing just how fast he could run, his thirties had been simply about running at all. _18-year-old Joe would be so disappointed – _the thought drifted by as Joe struggled to jog along the alleyway towards his car, gripping a small crate in front him and feeling his hip wrench a little in protest as he stumbled over a patch of loose gravel. The extra height and weight from a 10-pound dog food bag balanced on top of the load did little to help matters as he hitched his shoulders to grip more firmly at the bottom of the crate.

It was getting darker and Joe shivered, the sweat beading his forehead cooling abruptly with a gust of wind. As he rounded the corner, he caught sight of Nancy and Mike, still sitting on the bench outside of the coffee shop they'd originally met at. Slowing his jog to a walk, Joe gave a half wave of his elbow in the general direction of his car. "Well, I think we're all set! What do you say to getting out of here?". If Mike had heard him, there was no sign of it. Joe cleared his throat, stepping towards his trunk and balancing the weight of the crate against the trunk lid for a moment to shove a hand into his pocket and retrieve his keys. "Nancy, could you get the trunk for me?"

Hooking her fingers through the key ring dangling from his hands, Nancy stepped around Joe to unlock the trunk, eying the lid's ominous shake at her touch and grabbing to stop it from crashing back on Joe's arms as he heaved the dog food into an empty space. "Where, exactly, will Mike stay?". Her voice was quiet, but Joe still glanced over his shoulder towards Mike.

Ignoring Nancy's raised eyebrow directed at the duct tape wrapped around the trunk latch, Joe shrugged, pushing the crate to wedge between a faded blue sleeping back and an old typewriter he couldn't remember why he still had. "You heard Frank – this kid doesn't exist, legally. And the shelters here aren't any place for a kid."

Frowning, Nancy opened her mouth, seemed to change her mind, and nodded. Joe moved to pull the truck lid from Nancy's hands and carefully slammed it shut, keeping his hands heavy on either end of the lid so that the latch would catch despite its protests.

"There isn't exactly a protocol for how to handle a kid that technically doesn't belong to any district, has been dead for the past year, and doesn't have any living relations on record. We could take him to the police here, or CPS or something. But…" Joe gave a grimace, grunting as he tugged at the trunk lid to make sure it had caught, "if he has a death certificate, I'm wondering about the story there. Is he even Michael Althelhorn? Did his parents need to make him look like a citizen so they got him someone else's certificate? I mean, he looks Caucasian, but you never know. So," Joe sighed, shaking his head, "a lawyer is what this kid needs, not the police." He leaned against the trunk, crossing his arms to look at Mike who still stood on the sidewalk, quietly rubbing at his dog's ears and keeping his eyes fixed on the pavement in front of him. "He'll stay in my spare room. It's a small place, but there's room. It has heating, and it's clean—well clean for the most part—which is more than I can say about his former living situation."

Licking her lips, Nancy sighed and rubbed at her neck, watching Mike bend down and whisper something into Buddy's ear. "I see your point, okay? Really, I do. And I agree, until we figure out the death certificate issue, it might not be in his best interest to report him. But," her eyes sharpened, as she studied Joe closely, "what are you going to do with him when you're at work? I'm assuming you have some office hours, right, if you're still taking private cases?"

"I…I honestly don't know. I haven't really thought it through much more than this. I didn't exactly sign up for a kid when I went looking for a dog." Joe muttered the last sentence under his breath, but Nancy's mouth softened at the corners as he scraped a foot along the broken gravel collected against the sidewalk.

"You're right, you didn't sign up for this."

It was said quietly but somehow the tone still had Joe straightening up, and he sighed, frowning, "But neither did Michael. Or whoever he is. And I can't just take Buddy and leave him."

Nodding, Nancy looked thoughtfully at Michael, then glanced back at Joe, biting at her bottom lip.

"Well, keep me in the loop, if you can?"

"Of course".

Waving a hand to catch Michael's attention, Joe opened the rear door of his car and tilted his head towards the seats, "You and Buddy can sit back here."

* * *

It was a quiet drive. While he wouldn't have done so well with that in the past, Joe knew it was probably for the best, not pushing Michael, letting him take in the changes around him and get used to his presence. It wasn't until they were 10 minutes away from Joe's apartment that he cracked his neck and shifted in his seat, breaking the silence in what he hoped was an unobtrusive gesture.

"Well, we are getting close to my place." Glancing in the rearview mirror, Joe caught Michael's dark eyes studying his blue ones. The kid was listening and he didn't look scared, so that was something. "I think I'm going to want some frosted flakes when we get there. You know, when I was a kid, I never understood why they made those plain corn flakes. Who eats those anyway?"

No sound came from the back seat indicating Michael knew or cared what Joe was saying, but he took another breath and continued. "Then again, I've always had a thing for sugar. A 'sweet tooth', my mom used to call it. When I was a kid I added sugar to all my cereal, wheat chex, raisin bran, you name it. But my mom drew the line with frosted flakes."

Ignoring the urge to glance back at Michael, Joe continued "So, I'd refuse to eat any of the frosted flakes until Frank had finished almost the entire bag of them. Then, and only then, I would finish off the bag because I knew if I got the very last bowl of flakes, I'd also get a decent pile of sugar that had shaken off them. Frank was always a good sport about it, but he did make me eat all the raisins in his granola until I was 14." Grinning at the memory, Joe huffed out a laugh. "We always were a good team."

"Who's Frank?"

The voice was quiet, almost inaudible really, but Joe heard a shift behind him, like Mike was leaning in.

"Oh, I guess I didn't say, Frank is my brother. He's a little older than me. And a little smarter too, according to him." Risking a peek in the rearview mirror, Joe could see Michael's head tilted just slightly towards him, focused in a way that had Joe feeling encouraged.

"Yep, Frank and I, we've always been pals. Spent a lot of time together. We even had our own detective agency a while ago."

With an easy swing to the right, Joe pulled to a stop in front of his apartment complex, glancing back at Michael as he gave a tug to the emergency brake and turned off the engine. The sudden quiet felt heavy.

"Well, let's head on up. I'm on the second floor." Michael nodded, and with a grunt, Joe hauled himself out of his seat and moved to the trunk, popping it open and grabbing the supplies he'd gotten along with Michael's few belongings.

When Joe paused to set down his crate and lock the trunk, he noticed that Michael had figured out the lock on his passenger seat – _so he's familiar with cars_ – and stood now with Buddy at his side.

"Okay," Joe motioned with his head towards the wooden staircase leading up to line of red doors. "It's number 103".

Michael nodded as if to comply, but stayed stock still, just staring at Joe. The crate was getting heavier by the minute, so after a moment of silent eye-contact, Joe started up the stairs, hoping Michael would follow. He only noticed he was holding his breath when he heard the _click-clack_ of Buddy's nails and a shuffle on the steps behind him, and let out a puff of relief.

Jamming the crate between the door and his chest, Joe fished out his keys and unlocked his door, elbowing it open to step inside. Buddy needed no encouragement to follow and dashed past Joe, nearly knocking him over at the knees to immediately begin sniffing exploratorily around the small apartment. Chuckling a bit as Michael crept in in a far more subdued manner, Joe shoved his door shut with a shoulder, and strode towards his rarely used office. _Hopefully soon to be spare bedroom_, he sighed, as he examined the bookshelves in the corner and the clunky computer monitor on the floor that had managed to outlive all his laptops so far. _There should be an air mattress in here somewhere_, Joe mused as he turned back towards the door and walked to his bedroom at the end of the narrow hall.

"If you need the restroom, it's the first door on the right. If not, take a seat on the couch, and I'll set up your room." he called over his shoulder, shoving aside old yearbooks and grinning as he discovered the mattress he'd inherited from Frank tucked into the bottom of his closet.

By the time he'd blown up the air mattress and pulled on a set of his spare sheets, his phone read 8:30pm and there was a text notification from Nancy.

Straightening his back and feeling it crack as he looked over the room, computer monitor now shoved into the room's small closet and mattress pressed into the corner of the room with Michael's crate beside it like a makeshift bedside table, he sighed in satisfaction.

Thumbing the message open, Joe read Nancy's text,** '**_How was the drive back home?' _and considered for a moment before typing out, _'Quiet?'. _He wanted to say more, but there honestly wasn't much else he had been able to gather during the drive. After a moment though, he added, _'Any suggestions?'_

Three dots appeared, and then, '_Well, at this point he should be heading to bed. But I'd say tomorrow you could start with asking him about Buddy. See where that leads?'_

"Ah, crap". Buddy. He hadn't set up for him, but assuming that Michael had been sleeping with him in the makeshift tent, Joe wondered if it would be sufficient to just add a pile of blankets at the bottom of the air mattress for now.

Popping his head around the corner to check on Michael before walking down the hall towards his room, Joe had a moment of panic when Michael's red hat was no longer visible peeking over the back of the couch he'd directed him to. As quickly as the panic rose, it left when he took a few more steps into the living room and saw that Michael had simply curled up on the floor in front of the couch and lay beside Buddy, apparently sound asleep.

Quietly walking back into his own room, Joe pulled out some old blankets and set them inside Michael's room along with a glass of water because he didn't know much but he did know kids always seemed to get thirsty in the middle of the night.

Taking a couple of heavier steps out of the spare room so as to help rouse Buddy and, in turn, Michael, Joe cleared his throat and stopped just inside the living room. As he hoped, Michael seemed to immediately rouse, as the red hat popped back into view over the top of the couch and Buddy stretched and padded around the corner towards Joe, tail swinging lazily from side to side.

"If you guys are ready to sleep, I've got your room set up." Joe motioned down the hallway, smothering a smile as Michael let out a huge yawn, rubbing at his eyes and squinting at Joe with mild confusion. Turning and making the right into the spare bedroom, Joe stepped into the room with Buddy on his heels, shrugging his shoulders a little sheepishly as he gestured to the air mattress. "Just, right down here. There's where you can sleep tonight. You and Buddy."

Wordlessly nodding, as Joe had expected, Michael stepped cautiously into the room, glancing over the bookshelves and giving Joe as wide a berth as possible as he slid towards his bed.

"Right, well, I'm right at the end of the hall there", Joe took a step back into the hallway and jerked his thumb towards his bedroom door. "And right across from you? That's the bathroom. You can use that any time you need to."

Again, Michael nodded. For a moment, both of them simply stood there, Joe in the hallway looking in and Michael beside his bed, looking down. "Um. If you need anything, you just— you let me know. Okay?" For one second, Michael's mouth twitched and Joe could have sworn he was about to speak, but just as quickly, the moment passed and Michael was simply nodding again. Awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets, Joe nodded, and flicking off the lights with a "Goodnight", walked down the hall into his bedroom.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Joe took a deep breath. It seemed unreal that only 24 hours ago he had been driving home from Frank's, sure that he had taken a case that had no chance of getting solved. _At least one case is solved. Even if I just got another, _Joe mused, as he shoved himself to his feet and quickly pulled on his pajamas before striding to his door and cracking it open so he wouldn't risk missing any signal of distress or need from Michael.

As he settled against his pillows, Joe clicked on his phone, pulling up the last message he'd gotten from Nancy.

**Nancy: **'_But I'd say tomorrow you could start with asking him about Buddy. See where that leads?'_

_Yeah, I think that'll be best. Thanks for all your help today, _Joe typed out before pressing send and opening a web browser. He wasn't sleepy yet, and he figured he should at least try to look up some about Michael Athelhorn.

Several searches later, and he had little more than what Frank had already told him. Apparently, Michael Athelhorn had been born in New York city in 2010, and had died in 2019. The death certificate wasn't available through public records, at least in the cursory search Joe did of them, but he figured he'd get more details when he could use his laptop and search platforms he'd set up on it. No father was listed on the birth certificate, but he did have some hopes for the name listed as Michael's mother: Bella Athelhorn, and he typed it into the search bar. As he'd expected, the name drew up about a thousand different white and yellow pages entries which he knew he couldn't sort through without his search programs, but he still scrolled through several pages of search results, pausing at any obituary announcements and glancing over the "survived by" portion to see if the name Michael Althelhorn had been listed.

A half hour of this later, Joe still hadn't found anything that seemed even remotely relevant and he sighed. Pulling up the picture of the birth certificate he'd snapped for Frank, Joe studied it again, trying to see if there was anything he'd missed that might prove useful. He was rewarded with a small thrill when after zooming into and scanning every part of the picture, he saw a small note scrawled along the very edge, near the City Registrar's signature. _'For Dr. Haddlee-". _The ink had smeared but Joe thought he could make out _'-stone'_ or _'stern'_, and he grabbed a notepad from his nightstand, jotting down the name followed by a question mark. It wasn't much, but it was something. Shoving his phone under his pillow, Joe rolled over, closing his eyes.


End file.
